


benedictus

by kittu9



Category: Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Gen, Marriage, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittu9/pseuds/kittu9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie and Howl decorate the castle for the Winter Solstice. Clearly, getting married does not a mind reader make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	benedictus

**Author's Note:**

> Set post Howl’s Moving Castle, pre Castle In The Air. Written for explicate for Christmas 2005.  
> Title from “The Sanctus” (a Western liturgical hymn); from the Latin for “blessed.”

After getting caught using magic to decorate the top of the front room, Howl found himself reduced to steadying the bottom of a mildly unsound ladder that his wife was perched unsteadily atop of as she attempted to wind awkwardly long garlands around the ceiling beams (Howl was still faintly boggled by the fact that he was married to Sophie, but pleasantly so; he would never admit it aloud, but Sophie was infinitely preferably to more than one of his daily grooming routines). He didn’t mind his current position, and used to time to look up his wife’s skirt (Sophie had marvelous legs, but she all too often refused to acknowledge their existence, let alone show them off).

Howl usually found his wife’s insistence upon tradition a little pigheaded and endearing, but he was now inclined to think that their first Solstice together would be better spent on more entertaining pastimes than decorating the entire castle by hand, without magic (Even though there were only four rooms, it was the principle of the matter. Howl had a great many principles, even if he was the only person aware of them).

One of Sophie’s habits that he was valiantly trying to break included a traditional steak several leagues wide, one that had been hammered into her gingery little head since birth. Presently she had come to the conclusion that house decoration was something that married people did together—Howl had no idea how she had happened upon this, as it was his habit to flout tradition whenever it was either possible or even slightly funny. The end result was tallying to something along the lines of holly and ivy draped over every inclined surface, an obscene amount of gingerbread (which he actually didn’t mind), cut-out paper snowflakes (that was one of Mari’s ideas and, incidentally, something he did mind; Howl was rubbish at snowflakes) and mistletoe discreetly tucked into doorways (Sophie herself had almost forgone that one, partially because Howl took several opportunities to inform her that mistletoe was a parasite and particularly because Howl took a rather enthusiastic delight in accosting her every chance that he got). There had also been a rather nasty moment when she had cleaned the bedroom (again) and draped bunting in viciously seasonal colors above the bed and along the walls—Howl had been forced to intervene and had suggested visiting Wales (he figured that it would be just as ugly, would last for far less time, and had the added benefit of allowing him to piss about in a language that sounded as drunken and unintelligible as the season made him want to be).

Howl realized that Sophie was trying, in her bossy and efficient way, to orient herself in his life (this was still terribly new to the both of them and, as Calcifer and Michael had a tendency of remarking, in tones too loud not to be overhead, both Sophie and Howl made more than their share of mistakes). It was perhaps this thought that inspired him, when Sophie had descended from her ladder, to carry her bodily up the stairs (“I’m not using magic,” he informed her cheerily, making sure that she was incoherent enough with rage and embarrassment that she hadn’t the breath the curse him) and to their bedroom, whereupon he proceeded to tickle her into a senseless and reluctantly giddy heap (Howl noticed that Sophie’s face had gone a lovely pink color he rather liked—he resolved to make her breathless more often, and via rather different means).

When he was certain that his wife was beyond protesting, Howl dropped down beside her and explained, in what he thought was a rather reasonable manner, that he’d really rather have all of this decorating foolishness out of the picture and if Sophie kept this up (“really, darling, you’ve an excellent head for details, but I rather see more of you—” here he leered, only half in jest—“and be rather less murderously busy. And you’re scaring my spiders.”), Howl would have no choice but to take drastic measures.

“Whatever do you mean by ‘drastic measures,’” Sophie asked flatly, embarrassed and a little hurt. Howl was about to assure her that he, at least, would enjoy these measures very much, when he really looked at her. –He decided then and there that it was not wise to mention how attractive he found Sophie when she was angry (although Sophie looked dear not matter what her expression), partly because his manner (which was admittedly rather teasing) might provoke one of her injured silences. (Howl knew that he had gone too far when Sophie stopped fighting back—and besides the horrible jarring sensation he felt whenever she went quiet, he usually found himself sleeping in front of the fire and spending a great deal of time cursing himself).

Sophie wasn’t terribly convinced by his lack of response—she rarely was convinced of anything he told her, which was probably why she was rather more than a match for Howl’s copious charms—and finally Howl found his patience running out.

“Sophie,” he told her, taking her by the solders and shaking her a bit, “I happen to love you dearly and I would much rather see you than all of this confounded greenery.” Howl didn’t say what he meant often and he said what he felt even less—neither of them did, it wasn’t in their natures—and he felt a bit lost after he had done so, as if he had been caught in the open with nowhere to hide.

Apparently, his wife felt something similar; while it made eye contact difficult for a few minutes, the words hung in the air for the rest of the day, surviving even Calcifer bursting down the chimney and complaining about the snow falling in Market Chipping.

Later that night, after the usual evening fiascos had departed (Calcifer had set a garland on fire, Michael had gotten stuck in a snow bank, and Sophie’s family had invaded, to name but a few), Sophie shyly offered her hand to her husband; Howl took it, and together they walked up the stairs, pausing only at the top for Howl to gesture the candles out.


End file.
